Orphan of Aspont [part 1]

“Ri of Aspont.” Even though Talin was looking at her, his words were meant for the audience. “For the murder of High Adviser Shiron and the maiming of Princess Selina Highwater, first of her name and the king’s only daughter, I hereby sentence you to death.”

As Ri stood before this throng, she recalled a court wizard once telling her that a mob was actually one entity. The wizard’s twisted lips came back to her, his mouth slightly weaker on his left side. It made him pronounce his vowels oddly. She remembered his pallid skin and the pox scars on his cheek. They were like constellations.

The details that appear to a person in the moments before death are incredibly clear; it was a saying Ri had heard before, but not one she’d had the opportunity to test. The memory was so strong that there was a temptation to close her eyes, and in some part of her mind she believed she might’ve rejoined the wizard, standing before that hearth in the castle’s study.

But her eyes weren’t closed and there were no wizards present. Only guards and a mob. As she glanced over the edge of the prison wall and tried to identify individuals, she found he hadn’t been wrong. It was like trying to pick out a single gnat in a swarm. The crowd was like a singular quintessence of hate.

The mob flew at her. Not in a physical way - instead of fists and swords it was their hatred that pummeled her. This projection was a role she was tempted to accept. She could let the mob believe it was murdering this violent radical; this woman who threatened the - the what? The wizards? The legal system of magic? The radiance of the throne?

A woman in the front row caught her eye. She didn’t caw and screech like the rest of the mob. Both her hands were curled into her chest as if she were protecting her heart.

She probably was.

There were others like her. Ri couldn’t see them, but like ladybugs sprinkled in a field, they were there. Not everyone saw her as pond scum.

Talin turned his back to the crowd and the deep crimson robe over his shoulders caught the breeze. The king’s golden embroidered crest glinted in the sun and the mob shouted. When Talin turned again to face them, he lifted a golden chain above his neck and lowered the jewelry over his head. The king’s cloak and necklace were a symbolic reference to honor the absent royalty. Talin was standing in for the king.

She turned her face away as he thrust his chest forward. The fanfare enamored the crowd but, Ri kept stealing glances toward the guards at the stairwell. That was the only exit, and as such, that was what mattered most to her. Death was hovering over her the same way the king’s cloak hovered behind Talin.

Talin flashed both palms to the crowd. He received another roar, but then they managed to quiet.

“Ri, orphan of Aspont, you with no next of kin, no followers to speak of, no lover at your side and no ties to anything but a rebellion, do you have any last words?”

She held her chin high. The rope at her wrists didn’t chafe but it wouldn’t let her scratch the tiny bead of sweat prickling at her eyebrow. The sunlight glistened off Talin’s oily face. Better him to lead this execution than the king. Had she been this close to his highness's greasy face, she would’ve found a way to send the king over the edge of the wall. Maybe she’d go with him. That would’ve been an execution they’d talk about for decades.

Although she should have been paying attention to Talin, she couldn’t help but catch the eyes of the woman in the front row with her hands over her chest. In the end they’d never engrave a stone with her last words. They’d never bury her with her family crest. She was orphaned after all. She had no honor amongst these people, so her final words wouldn’t matter.

This glance mattered more than any words she might’ve spoken. There was a fading hope in this woman’s eyes. It was the same dwindling promise she’d seen in Sylvia’s eyes the evening of the dinner. Ri remembered the warm basket of bread as it bounced along in a servant’s hands. The smell of bread covered them both. Sylvia should not have touched Ri’s leg. She should not have have leaned over and whispered, “Nice of them to finally invite both of us.” She never should’ve pecked her on the cheek.

Ri’s skin prickled at the memory of Sylvia’s breath on her ear, and for a moment she couldn’t tell where she was - at an execution or at a dinner table.

These difficult memories blistered in her mind, in very much the same unavoidable way carcasses eventually succumb to festering bacteria. These images, these stories, these little pieces of history came back with startling clarity.

They’d never honor her. The only thing in her power was to remind them of the incident that started this uprising. Let her die with that on their minds.

“Let my people eat at the table where warm bread is served.”

They roared. A rock skirted by her feet. There was no way they’d reach her up here, but she had to admire the human spirit; they would try. A second rock flew past her ear. She flinched to avoid the volley but as she turned away, something flashed above her head. There was a flutter of black on the watchtower above her, yet the thing was gone before her eyes could truly see it.

A stone clipped her shoulder, and she flinched away. There wasn’t much she could do with bound hands, and Talin didn’t seem intent on calming them. Perhaps, somewhere deep down she preferred death at the hands of the people than the crown.

“Get the executioner.”

How they heard Talin’s voice over their own cheers she didn’t know. The executioner was already waiting out of sight on the stairwell. It was fanfare and flamboyance that required one of the guards to disappear and fetch him.

The guard returned with a man dressed in red. All eyes, all attention, and all screams were on this man in crimson tunic.

Her executioner came wielding a bardiche and when she caught a glimpse of the weapon, she saw the king’s teeth. She remembered staring at his face from behind the ironwrought bars. That was the one time he dared to lean in close enough for her to grab him. The memory of that dark cell punctured her mind, and although she was standing atop a wall in the sun, she shivered. At that moment, two weeks ago, she remembered his teeth. How does he keep them that white? she'd wondered to herself as he looked at her.  He spoke in his low baritone voice, “The executioner's axe is too proper for you. I searched for something more fitting. And you know what I found?” He leaned in even closer and spat. He left it as a rhetorical question, then. She remembered wanting to grab him, but they hadn’t fed her for six days and she was weak.

Now, that the weapon was before her, she cursed herself for not having the strength to grab the King’s beard and smash his face against the bars.

The blade had a terrible, ugly notch in the metal. Someone had chipped this blade and never bothered to fix it. The chip had grown into a gouge, and from years of ignorance or laziness, the blade had warped, bending at an inapt angle. She almost said her thoughts aloud: God, how do they sharpen that thing?

Her shoulders stiffened. They hadn't sharpened it.  Any blade that warped was not worth the upkeep.  This was the last gift she would receive from her king. It was not going to be done in one strike.

Something flickered at the edge of her vision. That dark black shape had returned. It stood still long enough to make it out into a man.  He wore traditional, black Clayporain robes. She didn’t even have the time to wonder why a foreigner was sneaking into an execution that had nothing to do with his people. He fumbled with something urgent at his hips, and even though the executioner was circling into place, she couldn’t pull her eyes away.

The foreigner pulled at a rope by his waist. It satisfied him, so he ran to the eastern edge of the watchtower and ducked out of sight.

Everyone - the crowd, the guards, even the birds, - had eyes on her, yet her mind was on one thing: Why was a foreigner sneaking through the watchtower?

Her heartbeat quickened.

An urgent thought manifested in her gut and she faced the crowd. Keep them looking at me. Without a plan, she lifted her arms only as far as the restraints would allow. It was enough.

A rock spun past her hip. Another collided with her shin and she stepped backwards.

“I have no name.” She called, making up words on the spot. “I have no family.” Power grew in her voice with each sentence. “I have no king. I will die alone.” Another stone landed by her foot. Their eyes were on her and she dare not look toward the watchtower again.

Talin stepped toward her. His voice was low enough that only the two of them could hear. “You will die alone.” This might have been the only time he agreed with her. “What a strange existence the god has given you. I pity the person who must die without companions by their side.” He gestured to the crowd.

It was meant to hurt her pride. That, they had taken when they abducted her lover. She clenched her jaw and forced eye contact with Talin. Let him look at her face. They’d spent these past years finding ways to subdue her. They’d imprisoned her, they’d starved her, they’d beaten her, but even now, Talin must have seen that there was a spirit in this dead woman’s eyes.

A moment of challenge passed between them. It was a small challenge.  This man, who was grasping for control by executing a rebel - was he as dangerous as a woman within minutes of death? She asked this with her eyes and took a step toward him. She hitched a shoulder and lifted her bound wrists. “Pity me? That tells me something. You should not have pity for the person who killed you High Adviser.” A forced laughter reached her lips but it didn’t live long. “My execution is not about the murder of Adviser Shiron. You’re killing me because of who I am. You pity the woman I am.” She approached him with fire in her eyes. “Every time you think of me, you won’t think of me as a murderer. You’ll think of me as the woman who threatened the crown.”

Talin broke eye contact. He glanced at the two guards. Without a word exchanged the guards grabbed hold of her elbows through studded gauntlets. She tried to pull away but they were stronger. They dragged her away from Talin.

There was an enjoyment in his voice as he regained control of the situation. He pointed to the block in front of her. “Kneel.”

Had it been up to her, she’d have taken her time. The guards did not find that luxury within their graces. The taller of the guards put his hands on her shoulders and pressed downward.

“Stop it.” She shook him away. “I’ll do it on my own.”

He grabbed her hair and pulled. His lips were next to her ear. “You’ll do it whichever way I want it.”

She noted the sexual undertone in that statement.

One knee went down first, then the other. To all eyes she was looking at Talin yet her attention was over his shoulder at the watchtower. Things were quiet. Another bead of sweat trickled to her eyebrow.

The executioner stood next to her shoulder and shifted the bardiche from the right hand to the left. A shadow passed over her face and perhaps it was her heart beating with too much hope, but the shadow was nothing more than the blade itself as it passed between her and the sun.

A guard pressed his hand to her back and thrust her neck against the block. “Don’t make me touch you while you’re dying.”

The executioner put both hands on his weapon and the shouts were so loud Ri couldn’t hear what Talin was saying. Talin spoke, and when he thrust his arms outward, the king’s cloak caught in the afternoon air, billowing behind him.

A black hood caught her eye from around the corner of the watchtower. The Clayporian had a rope around his waist and was dangling above her, both feet secured against the wall. With one hand on the rope, his other hand dove into his robes, and he pulled out a small white orb the size of his palm. He brought it to his lips and kissed it. Talin spoke but Ri heard nothing over the static noise of human excitement. The foreigner tossed the white sphere in an underhanded throw and immediately buried his face in his elbow.

It resembled a pebble and blended with their stones. Maybe that’s why no one noticed it. It sailed over Talin’s shoulder and hit the floor. There were a million screams. A light as bright as the sun filled her vision. In that moment all she knew was whiteness.  The place on which she was kneeling had disappeared.  Ri occupied a place where there was nothingness - only white light.  If this was death, she was satisfied.  There hadn't been pain, there hadn't been terror.  Just whiteness.

Ri exhaled.  Someone to her right screamed.  She blinked and the whiteness was still before her eyes.  She moved her shoulders, wrists twisting.  Her hands were still bound.  She was still on the balcony; only now people were screaming, their excitement turned to panic.  She turned toward the crowd, but the whiteness drowned her.  She turned her face toward the sun, and she could feel the warmth against her cheeks, but saw nothing.  There was a man with a bardioche behind her and a panicked crowd below her.  These things were true, but everything was white.  They had trapped her in a different way.  

Even more detrimental than being bound, she was blind.